


Love enough

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: Kissing Jakes after they’d solved a case was usually like falling head-first into an ashtray.





	1. Chapter 1

Kissing Jakes after they’d solved a case was usually like falling head-first into an ashtray. Jakes would close the door of his nice bed-sit with a hum of approval and throw his still-smoking cigarette into the umbrella stand before grabbing Morse by the shoulder and just going for it. Kissing Jakes was not the art of losing yourself in touch and affection, at least not for the first ten minutes or so. It was more of a fight of sorts, knees crashing against thighs and noses bumping as they grabbed at each other and tried not to fall over.

It didn’t matter that they did this several times a week.

The only change was when they came home straight from the pub, tipsy and laughing at anything. Then the kisses turned sloppy and uncoordinated. That was how it started, them colliding after a few too many drinks.

At first Morse had just thought of it as a way to blow off steam, or that maybe having sex after a few too many drinks was just how they worked.

But they hadn’t stopped. At least not yet.

There was a certain pleasure in utterly destroying Jakes’ carefully maintained hairstyle, even if it meant that Morse’s hands were covered in product. It was also nice not to have to worry about awkward flirting and dancing around about who was going to make the first move. Jakes had always been the senior officer, the one in charge. Not that Jakes pulled rank when they were at home. Much.

Instead they habitually crashed against each other, pulling off ties and unbuttoning shirts, leaving everything in a heap on the floor.

They had left the station late, as they always did, happy about having finished their paperwork for the day and walked through the dark streets beside each other. Jakes would hand over a cigarette or two and light Morse’s alongside his own, remarking that this was payback for Morse typing up his reports for him.

Some nights, they’d linger between the streetlights as if to prolong the moment. Jakes always claimed that he was tired, but Morse would just slow down and allow the man to glance into shops that had stuff in it they couldn’t afford yet. Snappy suits and new furniture. Flourishing roses and peonies and lilies. Knickknacks and fancy record players.

Jakes had shoved a still-warm pastry into Morse’s hand after ducking into a tiny bakery on their way to Jakes’ bedsit this evening.

“Caught a bloke who tried to rob the place,” Jakes had said, biting into his cinnamon bun. “So they allow me to drop by after hours.”

“Hm,” Morse had said, opening his bag and breathing in the scent before he’d dug out his own bun. “Thanks.”

The cinnamon bun was still hot and a little bit gooey in the middle, but it had been years since he’d had something like this straight from the oven. Morse took a bite, savoring the taste of powered sugar mingling with buttery softness and melty cinnamon-sugar.

Jakes proceeded to attempt to eat the whole thing in one bite, probably burning his mouth. Morse held the crinkly paper and hurried towards the next street light. The temperature was dropping by the minute and Morse could feel the damp threatening to soak his coat.

“Come on,” Jakes said, grabbing him by the elbow and running towards home.

Morse followed, of course he did.

Then there was nothing but the familiar half-jog up the carpeted stairs, listening to Jakes complain about having to dry his expensive caramel-colored coat. Morse was so used to tuning out how threadbare his own coat was that the thought of buying a new one was barely a far-away dream. Still, one day he assumed he’d find himself inside a shop with an armful of well-made coats and Jakes talking shop with the salespeople while he tried everything on.

 These days he’d find apples and still-steaming cups of tea on his desk and a cheap blanket draped over his chair on cold days.

And now Jakes was all sharp smiles and easy touches, bathed in the golden light of his bed-sit. Morse drew the curtains closed and smiled back.


	2. Chapter 2

They were being foolish, no doubt about it.

But perhaps that was a side-effect of seeing death and violence on an everyday basis.

It made you want to live, no matter if it was recklessly.

So Jakes found himself shoving a cup of tea into Morse‘s hands and dragging him into the coat section of the department store so that he wouldn‘t have to see the man shivering in the cold a minute longer.

“Why do you keep slipping green socks into my locker?” Morse had asked him once, when they were doing the damned paperwork.

“Because seeing the holes on the ones you own hurts me, Morse,” he’d answered, blowing out smoke. There was no need to mention the spare shirt he’d hidden underneath the pile of books Morse kept in there. Or the biscuits he’d sneak alongside the cups of coffee he’d put on Morse’s desk.

It was payback for the extra cigarette packs he’d find in his desk drawers and coat pockets, just when he’d thought he’d run out. Sometimes he’d even find hair products or a new comb in his locker. Or that plate of homemade lemon bars last autumn.

Morse looked at him every day as if getting shot and imprisoned for fighting his monsters had been worth it, every last bit of it.

Someone had to keep him safe, even if he could be an pompous idiot who spent most of his time either quoting poetry at Jakes and the world or thinking about operas. Good thing that was a skill in this city full of academics and poets, gave them a bit of an edge when it came to solving cases. It was always a sight to see the look on suspect’s faces when Morse actually answered back.

Maybe someday someone else than Bright would catch them.

They’d deal with that later.

For now he’d just keep making Morse do the lion’s share of his paperwork and make sure that they’d survive the winter intact.


End file.
